


Unbound by Caste

by Specks_of_Love



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aristocrats - Freeform, Empurata, Jazz / Meister, OC, OC centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre War Bots and Cons, Slice of Life, cross caste friendships, end of the golden age, lots of cameos, miners, pre war, short story format
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 09:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10241576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specks_of_Love/pseuds/Specks_of_Love
Summary: A series of drabbles from pre-war Cybertron following various citizens of Cybertron of various castes and origins throughout their final days of psudo-peace.OC centric.





	1. Skim and Submit

“...what are you doing?”

Fritz paused her climb up the shelves stuffed chock full of carefully labeled datapads, turning to meet the mech’s inquisitive gaze. Surge tilted his helm with a curious glint in his optics, not really expecting the minibot femme to answer.

And, per his expectation, she didn’t say a word. She merely offered a half-shrug and continued her upward trek. But that was just how Fritz was. She didn’t speak too much more than she deemed necessary. So as per usual, Surge merely brushed off her antics and resumed his own work. As a senior miner, he had a range of responsibilities, ranging from trade feeds to delivery records.

A few minutes later, however, the mech received an answer from his miniature companion.

“They _do_ put civilian submissions on higher shelves.”

Surge flicked his gaze back to the mini, “Excuse me?”  


Fritz regarded him with her unnaturally large blue optics, “The tall shelves. Civilian written and submitted works or essays.”

“What about them?”

“The put ‘amatuer’ sumbissions on higher shelves where they won’t be seen, rather than designating a section to ‘amatuer work’ which would be more effective.”

“So, you think they do that on purpose.”

“They have to be,” Fritz murmured, “The trend proves it if anything.”

“You gonna do somethin’ about it?”

The mini merely shrugged, scaling her way back down the shelf. Surge watched from his chair as the little femme landed with a dull thud and proceeded to make her way through the aisles to the front desk of the community center. Curiosity getting the better of him in her absence, Surge rose from the cushy chair and approached the shelf.

The mech let out a startled beep as one very familiar signature began to appear the higher his optics traveled.

Fritz, Fritz, Fritz.

At least four of the pads so far were marked with her designation.

“Don’t read them.”

Surge jumped a good three feet in the air at the sudden command, finding Fritz right behind him.

“I...uh, I didn’t know you were a writer.”

“...most assume I can’t even read,” Fritz paused and gave the mech a suspicious look, “Wait, who taught you to read?”  


Surge vented harshly, blue marring his faceplates as he gestured back towards the front desk. “The curator teaches an early class of younglings. I would listen in on her lectures. I learned to read pretty quick, making me valuable as a miner.”

“So you could file reports and monitor your own records instead of your foremech.”

Surge nodded and to his surprise, Fritz patted his leg with a look of pride and understanding he wasn’t prepared for.’

“Good on you. Your creator would be proud.”

Surge ex-vented as his plating shifted to accommodate the sudden wave of heat beneath his plating. “...thank you.” 


	2. The Early Bird's Worm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka, Surge and his Teacher.

“Neh...never...never would I...s-say…” Surge fumbled and gripped the data pad tighter, “...w-would I say...n-no to you...in the rain...rainstorm…”

Primus, this was hard; and yet, Surge could still feel the tingles of excitement dotted across his frame. It was early in the cycle, and he'd found himself at yet another lesson with the local curator.

Yet this time was special, he was finally reading his first novel. Finally.

“You're doing wonderfully, Surge,” the curator, Mythril, smiled gently, “If you would like, I can read the next paragraph?”

Surge nodded eagerly, “Please.”

Mythril gently took the datapad and offered the mech’s servo a chaste squeeze. Clearing her vocalizer, the femme began to read.

_The femme could hardly believe her audials. With a gently gasp, she allowed the mech to take her servos into his own._   
_“Do you mean that? Truly? That you will not let my poor spark drown in the onslaught of the coming storm?”_   
_“I do, my precious sweet spark. I do. Take my servo and lend me your trust, for there is nothing we can't accomplish together.”_

“Your turn, my friend.” Mythril chuckled, noting the look of frustration on his face.

“The story said that it hardly rained in that city-state.” Surge frowned, “So why are they talking about storms so much?”

“See, this book heavily uses symbols. Meanings attached to both tangible and intangible objects. Storms are often used to symbolize turmoil or conflict,” Mythril explained and pointed to the picture of the main characters of their story, “They're trying to convey that he's promising to stay by her side, even when things get bad.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Books are...weird.”

Mythril laughed aloud and patted the mech's leg. “Correct you are, my hood mech.”


End file.
